


a better beginning

by goreallegore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Liam are attached to the hip, Louis is always putting his foot where it's not needed, and Niall and Harry are ever so quietly in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a better beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooooooo, a lovely anon asked me if there were any ace narry fics out there and I haven't come across one. So, I decided to do a little something for them. This is completely subjective and this is how I tend to feel so a lot of projecting is going on here. It's not SUPER GREAT but it is a start and i hope you all like it.

Niall picks up his rucksack where it is lying on the floor, shoving in his positive psychology textbook and notebook, grabbing the yellow highlighter from the mason jar that is painted with a mix of orange, yellow’s and red. The colors drawn together to form flames that stop halfway, the mouth of the jar doused with gold glitter, it was a birthday present from Zayn. Think it was during his first year at Derby when he’d bumped into Zayn, both a little more than lost, and luckily, without a roommate. Filed out paperwork and a week later the two were moving into the University’s living quarters.

He plucks the grey sweatshirt off the spinning chair, tugging it on, and fishing for his water bottle which is sitting on the counter in the attached kitchen, not bothering to check if there is something to eat in the fridge.

He leaves the door ajar knowing Zayn will stumble in any second now like clockwork, stumbling out of Liam’s apartment at 8:59 am every morning right before Liam left for the gym – both of them had afternoon classes so it was convenient for the lot to sleep in. Niall climbs down the stairs, pushing the front door to the apartment complex open and catches sight of the bus coming to a halt in front of the stop, he untangles the headphones in his hoodie pocket, plug them into his phone and pressing play as he climbs into the bus.

The campus library is one stop away, but the student union café is two, so he chooses to stand instead of sitting, holding onto the metal rod and swaying back and forth with the pull of the vehicle. He can feel the slight rumble of his stomach, regretting that he didn’t eat the muffins Eleanor had brought over the other day, and immediately is reminded that he didn’t because he’s going to get a mocha latte and a slice of strawberry cheesecake at the café.

The bus stops a minute or two later, students filing out easily, and he himself steps off to wind around it towards the quaint shop. It’s student run, art pieces from the art and design students hanging along the brick walls, if he squints he can see one of Zayn’s hanging in the far back, over the booth that they usually sit in, their initials carved into the wood – under the table. The barista has shoulder length hair that is pushed back by the green visor she’s wearing, her lips smeared a dull shade of coral, and pearl earrings poked into her ear lobes.

She smiles at him, punching in his order without him reciting, “Nothing different from the usual, yeah?”

Niall shakes his head, and she’s unbearably sweet, always has been. But Niall’s never been arsed to go beyond the small talk while she brews his drink, besides, if he did that wouldn’t be entirely fair.

He takes his slice of cake and steaming latte to the booth, setting the two down and pulling out his textbook, he’s outlined the key definitions and studies, a little over halfway done with the chapter, when Harry slots himself opposite to him.

They stay quiet for as long as it takes Niall to finish the chapter, jot down the important notes and closing his textbook shut – meanwhile Harry had busied himself with his own drink, tapping away at his phone.

Niall looks up through his eyelashes, noting how Harry’s own eyes are fixed on the dimly lighted screen that’s glowing in his face, his features softened as he rubs his lips in his forefinger and thumb.

“Everything alright?” Niall pushes the books to the end of the table so they’re not in his way, crossing his arms on the table, and rubbing his own elbow subconsciously.

Harry jerks his head up, pulling the corners of his lips to match a smile – crooked but one nonetheless. He tucks an errant curl behind his left ear, “Not at all, how was studying?”

Niall shrugs, playing with the cuff of his latte before bringing it to his mouth, sipping on the now cold drink, “Reckon, I could pull off a B, maybe, A minus if the lucky stars are on me side.”

Harry thoughtfully hums, going back to his phone and Niall shouldn’t be bothered, but this is routine where they both meet at the SU café and chat a bit about what they’ll be doing for the rest of the day – no matter how uneventful it’s going to be. Niall bites down on his lower lip, patiently waiting or Harry to finish, instinctively checking his own phone for the time to see its 10:30 am. He has class at eleven, so he shifts in the booth to push his books inside his bag, the rustling must pull at Harry’s attention.

“Already leaving?” He asks, no longer hunched over his phone.

Niall zips the bag, shaking the cup of his drink slightly to see how much is left and says, “Yeah, got a lesson at eleven and then another right after at 2.”

Harry propels himself forward, grabbing hold of Niall’s wrist, the smooth skin of his palm making the end of hair on his arm stand up, “Soz, I didn’t mean to like. Urm, Grimm’s just told me I need to find a place to stay tonight, so, like I was just sorting that out.”  


A fresh batch of students filter in, making a beeline towards the register to the pretty barista, and Niall can hear the quiet lull of the coffee machine ebb away thanks to the increase in incessant chatter and the clacking of shoes against the floor.

Niall sighs into the touch, careful not to jerk away, “Could always stay over.”

Harry’s not listening, no because his eyes are shifty and he’s glancing back to his phone as Niall speaks, “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Apparently, all my mates decided to get a lay for tonight. It’s a Thursday, jesus, they couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

Niall chuckles, quiet and slow with his words again this time, “Harry, you could stay over.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Niall, I do -,” he pauses, directly facing Niall his lips curving around an ‘ _oh’_ sound, “At yours? Is that ok? Wouldn’t Zayn mind?”

Niall slips out of the booth, his left wrist still wrapped in Harry’s hand, and stands in front of the boy, the curly-haired lad’s legs spilling out as he swivels in his seat too, “Nah, he’s never in, anyway. Always over at Li’s. It’d be nice. We could order in and watch a movie, don’t have classes tomorrow.”

Harry knits his brows together, struggling to decide whether he wants to ask Aimee as well, Niall reckons, but then joyfully nods. Niall laughs a little, sliding his hand down into Harry’s and pulling him up, and Harry tumbles out of the small space into Niall’s arms.

 He steadies himself, pulling on his own backpack that laid idle on the bench for the better part of the morning, and grins, “It’s a date.”

-

“It’s a date,” Niall repeats, lying on the bed with his legs hanging off the edge staring at the ceiling, the starch white walls blending into the black painted blades, it’s all very mesmerizing. He breathes in, and then out, trying to wrap his head around what his words might’ve implied – or not implied he’s not too sure.

There hasn’t been a single time when the subject has been brought up and so far Niall’s been oddly okay with that, it’s not like he’s hiding anything, but he’s not exactly telling the full truth. Harry’s always been sort of around, he was there when Niall first moved in to Uni, was there when Niall bombed his first exam, was there after he didn’t pass his driver’s license first time round. He’s been his best pal, and somehow, his favorite person which shouldn’t be all too different. But it is, because Harry makes him lightheaded, and his chest feel tight, and last year when neither of them had dates to the Soccer house party Harry had asked him to go with. And the rest, well, they’re here now,

“We are dating,” he talks himself through, regurgitating the memories of their first date and how smoothly it went. That was the only one though as they’d decided they weren’t the going on date types, they rather book a study room at library and ignore homework talking about space and the evolution of alligators; Harry was into that, reptiles and all.

Their dates were terribly normal, nothing more than Harry stealing few kisses that Niall didn’t mind sparing, sometimes absently stroking his thumb at the jut of Niall’s hipbone. Subtle touches just for the two.

Shouldn’t be any different he figures, counting the dust freckles splattered across the dark blades, when Zayn stumbles in, “Are we contemplating the meaning of life? What’s the topic of instigation? Carl Sagan?”

“Fuck Carl Sagan,” Niall has read his books cover to cover and all he’s gathered is that the man makes him want to fight bees. Yes, tiny yellow and black striped honey bees.

Zayn nudges at his foot, his way of asking to move, and Niall budges up making room for Zayn to crawl beside him, “Liam, asked me.”

Niall tries not to move too much, doesn’t want Zayn to think he is biased to one side or another, even if he knows what Zayn will say and what Liam asked, “What did you say?”

Zayn leans his cheek onto Niall’s shoulder, his head fitting into the crook of Niall’s neck, “Told him I need some time to think about it.”  


Niall hums, reaching down and entwining his fingers with Zayn’s, he’s always been a fan of hand-holding and luckily enough Zayn too, “But you already know what you’re gonna say, yeah?”

Zayn groans, but Niall can tell he’s smiling, “I am going to move in with Liam, am I not?”

“Oh, Zaynie, how awfully rude of you to leave me all alone,” Niall whinges, twisting one of Zayn’s nipple, the boy pulling back and yelping.

“Oh, shut it, you’d have Harry moving in not even seconds after,” and Niall goes stiff at that, his body reacting before his brain can even process the words and chew around the thought. It’s been a thought, but it’s also been subdued along with explaining other things. Niall’s not too fond of confrontation especially when the outcome is generally the same.

Zayn looks up through his lashes, nipping at the skin of Niall’s bare shoulders – he took off the jumper and is only wearing a stripped tank top – and says, quietly, “Tell him the springs of your mattress finally came out so you have to sleep on the sofa.”

The fans winding down, rays of sunlight coming in through the powder blue curtains brightening the room, and Niall splutters out a laugh, “Yeah? Only Liam would fall for that, Zayn, Harry’s smarter than that.”

Offended, Zayn sits up, “Excuse me, are you claiming that my boyfriend _isn’t_ smart?”

Niall shrugs, teasing purposely already forgotten his own queries, “I mean, if the shoe fits…”

Zayn hits him with the pillow, presses his fingers into Niall’s ribs and tickles him until he gives up, the two falling over in a mess of limbs and sheets and he’s happy.

\--

Around 6:00 an hour or so before Harry’s supposed to arrive, Louis comes parading in with heaps of plastic bags weighing down, but Niall can’t tell what it is other than its bought from Tesco, Eleanor in tow holding onto her purse, “Sorry in advance.”

Louis sticks his tongue out her before turning back to Niall, who is currently sitting on the kitchen floor scrubbing off pasta sauce that Liam had dropped the night before; he can’t have his boyfriend come over while his apartment is a mess. That is the only reason why he’s doing not because he’s neurotic and stressing and cleaning helps him calm down, no not at all.

“Is there something you need, Tommo?” Niall asks without stopping rubbing the sponge up and down on a paste splotch that is proving to be resilient, he doesn’t even know what Liam thought it would be a good idea to have a separate bowl of pasta sauce, they could’ve just poured it on top of the pasta and called it a day, but of course not.

This reminds him of last year when Liam clogged Zayn and Niall’s toilet during the winters and they were snowed in with an over pouring sink and no way to reach a plumber. God, help Zayn.

“I brought you the goods,” Louis states enthusiastically, jiggling the bag in his face, and Niall eyes him skeptically not sure what ‘goods’ entails. “Ugh,” Louis groans, “Do I have to explain everything?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, plucking out her phone from her back pocket, when Niall says, “Considering you’re the one who walked in without knocking once again, yes you do.”  


“It’s for you and Harry, you know? He texted me that you invited him over so he reckons you lot are gonna seal the deal tonight,” Louis grins wickedly, his pointy canines on display and Niall’s always been jealous of how straight his and everyone else’s teeth are when he had to get braces.

With a tremble, he squeezes the sponge into the bucket of water looking away so Louis can miss the quiver in his voice, knowing fully well only Eleanor and Zayn know, but.

“Wonderful, he said that? Ok, you can like, toss it on my bed, or whatever.”

If the ground cracked open and swallowed him in right about now that would be great, maybe, he can make a run for it. He does only have two years left to get his degree, can easily transfer over to Dublin or somewhere remote, oh, maybe Bali! He could definitely runaway. That is a solid option.

A hand settles on the joint of his shoulder, a thumb stroking at his scapula, “You okay, man? You seem nervous.”

Niall swallows around the guilt, trying to find words, when he hears Eleanor saying, “It’s just first time jitters, everyone gets them, Lou. He’ll be fine.”

Louis being his self-absorbed self that can’t spare anyone else a thought – okay, that is mean, but Niall is entirely stressed and Louis’ smug attitude isn’t helping – says, “Yeah, but it’s not his _first time_ , y’know? He got nothing to worry about. It’s Harry!”

He slaps Niall’s back making him flinch, he closes his eyes promptly thinking _yeah it is harry that’s the problem!_

Suddenly, Niall can feel the weight of Louis’ other hand on his other shoulder, “Ok, Horan, what the fuck is going on?”

Niall lies, says that Eleanor is right, and the guilt of lying is eating up his insides, but he has Harry to worry about and adding Louis to the mix is simply a recipe for disaster. Thankfully, a little convincing and bribing Louis by telling him he’ll buy him a drink next time they’re out earns him solitude, the pair leaving not before Louis howls suggestive remarks Niall’s way.

He barely gets time to process what is happening, the door closing with a thud only for him to grab the bucket and moving towards the bathroom when he hears a knock, the sound surprising him and causing him to trip over Zayn’s Doc Marten’s that have been lying around the living for ages. The water upends splashing everywhere and soaking Niall from head to toe, not to mention he lets out an embarrassing yelp with his fall.

“Niall! Is everything ok in there?” Harry calls out, and Niall breathes to himself. “Fucking fantastic,” face-planted on the hardwood floor, soapy water trickling down his joggers and up his tank top.

Niall picks himself up dripping all the way down to the front door of his and Zayn’s two bedroom flat, the tiny space seeming bigger and bigger as he carries his soaked self, and edges the door open, a worrisome frown catching his site.

“You’re okay? Yeah? I heard yelling,” Harry warts over a few sounds, being completely unfair. Niall edges further out. He notices the duffle bag hanging off Harry’s shoulder, brandishing his worries like the last seal of confirmation he needed.

Harry’s arms are a honey tan, pinking up on the insides of his forearms, but generally tan on the outside, and Niall thinks about all the football the lad has attended without having to be part of the team. Every season without fail you can find the boy sitting on top of the steel bleachers, a snapback pulled back, his thumb kneading his lower lip needlessly, as he cheers Niall on. Niall remembers that’s when he started noticing, started hoping he’d be there always, cheering him on no matter what he does.

Niall pulls back the door to his chest, letting Harry in and steadily placing a hand on his bicep, “Careful, the floor is wet.”

Harry looks between Niall and the little puddles of water left in his boyfriend’s trail, and smiles, “Where’s the mop?”

So, they clean because that seems appropriate. They wipe down the floor, and Niall sets a kettle up on the stove, heating up water to make his and Harry’s favorite tea – ginger lemon, something which Niall had despised until Harry came along. Now he drinks it at least once a day.

After tossing the sponge into the bucket, Niall goes towards his room, “I’m gonna get out of these clothes or gonna catch a cold.”

Harry hums, not looking up from where he’s mopping down the last of the spilled water, and Niall takes it his queue to leave. He strips bare to his briefs, throwing the dirty clothes aiming for the hamper, the wad landing in with a ‘plop’ and then scouring thru his drawers. He finds a soft yellow tank that says _WICKED_ in orange and goes to pull it on, but a pair of hands twist around his waist, a warm breath ghosting over the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

For the first time, since he’s known Harry, he feels an uncomfortable feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, his skin crawling and freezing at the touch. The rigidness of his body apparent.

“I missed you,” Harry says, pressing his lips to Niall’s bare shoulders, running his palms over Niall’s abdomen, eliciting a shiver. Niall stands glued to the ground, his head spinning and the tips of his ears warm and his cheeks on fire, and he wishes that he could just say it, could just say _stop please_. But he doesn’t want to hurt Harry, which would be worse – so much worse.

Luckily, the kettle whistles marking that the water is done, and Niall whisks himself out of Harry’s arms, accidently elbowing his gut in the process, “Oh! I’m sorry! Tea!”

The words roll out as he scrambles out of the room, the shirt tightly clutched in his hand, and goes to turn of the stove, pulling on the tank top and taking out two cups to pour in the water. He stands there counting down his breath, easing into his own skin, and listening to the steps of Harry coming out of the room.

With a nervous tick, he hands the cup to Harry, the boy smiling up at him from where he is sitting the couch and somehow – because fate has decided to screw him over today – he drops the scalding liquid on Harry’s thigh. Harry jerks up, yelling in pain and Niall flinches, “I’m so sorry!”

He rushes to grab a damp towel and brings it to Harry’s who’s already out of his jeans, grabbing the towel and pressing it on top of his reddened flesh. Niall wants to cry a little, but he knows this isn’t the right time nor place.

A train of apologies spill out of his mouth, and Harry’s squinting at him, his face pinched, “It’s ok! Happens to the best of us.”

No, no it doesn’t. Zayn’s never almost killed his boyfriend and he _can’t_ even cook. Niall sighs, going to grab an ice pack and bringing to Harry. He rounds the coffee table and comes to sit beside Harry where he’s holding down the cloth, and says, “Here, this will help.”

Harry moves his hand and Niall tamps down his own icy fingers onto the soft skin, milky white in comparison to the tanned arms, and chokes around his words, “I’m sorry.”

Harry squawks, loud and unabashed, “Mate, it’s alright. Can’t beat the time Louis literally slammed car door and broke three of my fingers.”

They’d been pissed drunk camping out near Drum Hill, and Harry had told Louis that his collection of Tech Deck’s was stupid and he should consider throwing them out come Third Year so Louis thought it would be funny to jam Harry’s fingers in the door. It wasn’t pleasant, not one bit.

Niall doesn’t look up but intently focuses on the little laughs Harry’s breathing out, the wisps of Harry’s thigh hair under the pad of Niall’s thumb blooming a warm tingling in his chest, and it is so different from what he was feeling in the room. The walls don’t seem to be caving in and his body isn’t rigid, he feels fine, he’s okay.

When the silence hangs longer than Harry would like, he says, “You don’t like me touching you.”

Niall jerks his head up, his eyes widening and his palm still weighing down the ice pack, but doesn’t say anything because Harry’s not finished, “I, uhm, in the room? You kind of froze? And at Sophia’s birthday you, also, at the beach when I’d….”

Niall can tell he’s trying to be careful with his words, tip-toeing around them so he doesn’t hurt Niall in and he shouldn’t be so wholly endeared, but Harry cares so much and it hurts at times to keep on hiding, to keep on doing the quite opposite of what is asked out of him in this relationship.

He ducks his head, trying to keep his voice leveled, “I’m. I’m not into stuff like that, like. I don’t mind if you touch me, but I don’t find pleasure in other things.”

“You mean sex?” Harry supplies, picking up the words Niall’s desperately trying to drop like little marbles in a pail after playing with them.

He shudders at what might come next, how Harry’s probably going to call it quits, but admits anyway, “Yeah.”

A split second later, no time absolved debating the consequences, “Okay. That’s okay.”

There is rustling out the window, and Niall thinks the wind is picking up, for late march it is still pretty chilly towards the night because of the cool draft. Sirens and horns have started filtering in as the clock ticks closer to 8:00, roads packed with traffic, people heading home after a long of work.

Harry brings a hand to Niall’s chin propping it up and meets his gaze, “I said it is okay. I don’t mind.”

Niall blinks, confused, usually this is when they make a run for it spouting nonsense like _you’re weird_.

“What?’

Harry knits his brows together, moving a smidge closer, but then tentatively placing a hand around the nape of Niall’s neck – his eyes seeking approval beforehand. He rubs at the ends of his hair, “I don’t care. I like you for you and this is just another part of you, yeah?”

Niall nods, trying to understand how that would work, how it will probably eventually catch on, but right now Harry’s ok with it so he won’t push it. Will let their arrangement stay, “Thank you.”

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, still rubbing circles at the back of his neck, “So, like. Do you not like kissing too?”

Some don’t, Niall, however -, “If I didn’t then wouldn’t have smacked one on you when Andy thought you were a free agent.”

Harry’s grinning again, showing off the dip of dimples, pulling himself closer, “Good. Because can’t imagine going without these lips.” He says and solidly presses his mouth to Niall’s, and it’s blissful. Because Niall’s no longer holding down on the ice pack, because his left hand is entwined with Harry’s and the expiration date in the back of his mind is nowhere to be found and, well, he’s in love. He’d admit that too, but only one surprise a night, he reckons.

Harry pulls back, lips slick with saliva, “I can’t believe you almost murdered me because you didn’t want to have sex.”

Niall throws a cushion at him to shut him up.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ niallohmighty.tumblr.com / comments kudos all that jazz!


End file.
